The Prelude
by Moxie
Summary: *Chapter Two is up! (Finally...)*::giggles:: Read and find out. I don't know if this has been done before... at least, not in this fashion
1. Secrets of a Raven

Far back inside the human mind, dwells passion and desire hidden,

And no tree bears bounty as sweet, as the fruit that is forbidden.

~*~

History is an interesting thing to fathom. Us human beings with our tiny, sordid minds seem to accept what the history books tell us, and then we go along our happy way; without a second thought. I guess some might say that I am a person firmly cemented in history... if not for what I've done, but more for what I represent... but the history books leave out half of my legacy... if you could call it a legacy.

I was born Elizabeth of Wales, a noble birth, with bloods so intertwined and carefully bred that you could say with certainty that I was from a blue-blooded family. I remember people telling me when I was a young girl that my blood was special. I could never get why they said that. I pricked myself several times on various sharp objects... my blood seemed just as red as anyone else's did.

I never got to go out into the villages on our fief; for fear that I might spoil my 'special' blood. I could never understand that either... why would play with other children spoil this blood of mine? What in the devil could they do to it? That fierce argument that I used to have with my parents makes my innards boil to this very day. 

The only other child that was inside our manor aside from myself was my younger brother, Louis II, after my grandfather. He seemed to accept the rules of nobility easier than I did; I was angry with him for this, but at the same time, I was extraordinarily jealous of him. He lived the same life I did, but he was perfectly content, yet I was always restless and unhappy for some odd reason that I didn't comprehend at the time.

Contrary to what most people think, I was not born to a pureblooded family. I was not even born a hybrid. I don't know where I got it from, but my magic just came to me from the muggles. I sometimes like to reflect that maybe my magic kept me from settling into my pampered life. It was my magic that brought me to seek the truth, away from castles. Of course, I didn't know that I had magic until much later.

So, when I was four, but a wee toddler myself, I waddled in my overextravagant dresses, and found the heavenly room that transported me away from my boring lessons of useless stichery and protocol. The library. Well, in _my_ time, it wasn't considered _proper_ for young maidens like myself to learn how to read. That argument makes me even angrier than the rule saying that I wasn't to be allowed to play with the other village children.

Well, after being lectured by my mother and father for an hour, I marched straight back to the library, and picked out a storybook. _A Thousand Tales of Mystery and Enchantment_, I believe it was called. At the tender age of four, I decided I had had enough of living up to everyone's expectations. I was going to teach _myself_ to read, no matter what those bastards said to or about me. Needless to say, I didn't have a very high respect held in esteem for my parents.

So that's how I grew up. With my nose in a book. Well, when I was about ten, my parents found out. As usual, they sent a servant to do their dirty work. By this time, people had noticed strange things happening around Wales Manor. My parents had sent a suitor for me, to see how he liked me. If he did, we were to be married. If he didn't like me, we weren't. I had no say in the whole affair. Needless, that didn't go over with me very well. Soon after he arrived, the fourteen-year-old boy ran from the manor, screaming that it was haunted. And then there was the incident when Marion, my snooty servant, mysteriously disappeared _after_ she struck me. I had a feeling that my parents suspected me, but since witchcraft was feared and 'evil', they said nothing.

Anyway, the servant came in. "Mistress Wales?" he said in a timid voice. I was hiding in my closet with a candle, trying to practice my annunciation of words. I ignored him, but he opened the door and saw me, sitting on a pile of petticoats, looking back up at him. We stared at each other as deer might stare into the lights on a train.

"Can I help you?" I asked in my most-noble voice. Sometimes that could scare people off. I hated feeling above and beyond people, so I only used it in terms of great emergency. This could account as an emergency, I thought.

This servant, however, held his ground. "Your parents demand that you concede your reading materials, and report to them at once." My heart sank into my stomach. That only meant one of two things; a long-winded speech, or a beating of some sort... I didn't know which one I dreaded more.

"Tell your master that if he wants to come and get me, he has to do so himself," I replied coldly. I didn't care if I got into more trouble for this; I was tired of my father acting through his servants. If he wanted to reprimand me, he would have to do it himself. The servant's face turned the pale color of milk curdling in the churn, before swallowing and shaking his head.

"But they said that if I saw you indulging in forbidden activities, I was to send you to them..." he babbled, looking quite afraid of going back to my father empty-handed.

A thought came to me. "What would have happened if you didn't see me sharpening my literary skills?" I inquired.

The servant looked rather shocked at the question. "Err... well, I suppose I would have gone back to his grace" (my father was a duke) "and said that you weren't doing anything out of the ordinary."

I tugged my lower lip. "So, if I was to obliviate your memory... you wouldn't have seen anything wrong, so you couldn't tell them anything, right?"

A bead of nervous sweat trickled down the servant's neck. "Y-y-yes, I s-s-suppose so," he stuttered. I had him scared. I was glad, but I hated myself at the same time.

I stood up off of my petticoat pile, and looked the servant in the eyes. I can still remember his pale, pale, terrified orbs. That only made me feel dirty, but I _couldn't_ let Mother and Father find out about my hobby. 

"_Obliviate_," I whispered, ever so softly. I could barely hear myself speak, but the strange words worked. There was a loud clang, as an empty teakettle I had in my room fell off of the nightstand. The servant blinked and swallowed several times, as if restarting himself. He looked at me. I looked back at him.

"Ma'am?" he asked, looking bewildered. I was stunned. My impulse worked. "What are you doing down there in the closet?"

I hurriedly kicked a petticoat over my small collection of books in the closet. "I was just looking for a dress... and you were here to carry my tea set back to the kitchen," I adlibbed. The servant looked even more confused than before, so I gathered the cup, kettle, sugar, and cream containers, and threw them on a tray. I shoved the tray into the servant's hands.

"Oh, forgive me, Madame," he said, still looking rather confused. I nodded.

"That's quite all right. Be off with you," I ordered. The servant bowed.

"My lady is kind," he said, and walked out the door with stately grace. I shut the door behind him.

For a moment after that, I leaned against that door, as if I expected the servant to come back in with a battering ram and try and bust the door in. I then bundled up the books in the closet, snuffed the candle, shut the door, and locked it with the key on the chain I wore around my neck. I stuffed the key and the thin chain back under my shirt.

I had completed the worlds first Memory Charm. Without a wand. I didn't quite know what I did at the time, but I knew that I had used my 'special ability' to trick a man, to save me from getting in trouble. I curled up on my bed and cried for the next hour. I had no idea why.

~*~

A couple of months later, my mother took me down to my personal tailor, where he took my measurements, and gave me a large variety of materials and colors to choose from. I was quite suspicious, as I almost _never_ got new wardrobes unless we were going somewhere important where we needed to impress somebody, or I just plain outgrew my clothes. Well, my clothes still fit, so I decided that we were going somewhere. No matter how many dirty looks I gave, or how many times or ways I asked, nobody would tell me anything. That was when I got very suspicious, but I kept to myself and my books, as normal.

A few days later, we took horse and overly elaborate carriage to a place called Smyliee Lake, where there was a very large stone manor over looking the actual Smyliee lake, and.... a young noble boy or marryable age for me. I was no fool when I saw the young man standing there at the gate, but I said nothing.

I remember that day clear as anything. We rode up, and it was drizzling slightly outside. The dirt road was muddy, and there were three people waiting for us under the shelter of the castle foyer.

Lady Carolina was all right, as far as looks go, but she was as empty-headed as a burlap sack. Lord Samuel was a very gruff, stern-faced man, with eyebrows so bushy that they seemed to grow together as one. Their child, Alexis, was a story altogether.

Despite having a rather girlish name, once you saw him - my God - you saw a fine specimen of a man. He had sandy blond hair that lopped in his eyes in a cropped cut, and blue eyes that were about as blue as Lake Smyliee itself. My heart thudded nearly to a stop in my chest. Alexis of Smyliee Lake was _handsome_.

That was the moment he looked into my eyes. My heart nearly stopped again, but this time of fear. Those beautiful eyes weren't only malicious, they were... they were _evil_. In that beautiful face and those strong muscles, I could sense evil in the roots of it. I looked away.

I kept my head down all through tea, only speaking when somebody else spoke to me. My parents thought this odd, since I was so outspoken with my family at home. Alexis was trying to catch my eye, but I had no desire to drown myself in those gorgeous eyes of evil. I could _feel_ it radiating off of him, almost in _waves_. The adults kept on talking, Smalltalk that made no difference to anybody. With that incessant babble and Alexis's evil presence, I felt no desire to be there.

When tea was over, we went into the large parlor, where I perched myself on the edge of a very uncomfortable, elaborately carved wooden chair. Alexis was smugly silent through the entire ordeal, which scared me. I wished we could go home.

It was at that moment that I remembered the entire new wardrobe and the talks about good behavior that we had before I came here. It all added up. I wasn't _going_ home. I was to be left at Smyliee Lake, betrothed to the man with the evil eyes. I sat there and thought it over. I did not cry, more out of good etiquette that had been drummed into my head other than self-control. All too soon I heard the fateful words.

"Elizabeth, dear," my father said in a sickly-sweet tone, "why don't you and Alexis over there go and get to know each other better?"

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. But I didn't. I stiffly got up and nodded. "Yes, Father," I responded in a voice that was stronger than I felt at the moment. Alexis got up too, bowed to my parents deeply, and offered me his arm. I forced myself to take it.

We strolled out of the manor, making smalltalk along the way. I looked straight ahead the entire time, refusing to look in his eyes.

"Lovely weather we're having here lately," Alexis said coolly. I swallowed, my throat suddenly paper dry.

"Yes, very lovely," I repeated mechanically. I wanted to be anywhere, anywhere but here, and I didn't know why. Alexis hadn't done anything to me - yet.

"I agree. Do you like it here?" he asked softly, in a very melodic voice. I didn't know what to say. Do I go with the truth? 'No, I don't like it here, and I don't like you.' Do I go with polite protocol? 'Oh, I simply _adore _it here'? So, I didn't answer.

"Well?"

Still no answer.

"_Well?_" he pressed, sounding slightly aggravated. I cringed, not wanting to make him mad.

"Do you want the truth?" I whispered. It was then that the moment I had been dreading happened.

He grabbed me by the wrist and whipped me around. I was forced to look up into those terrible eyes of his again.... I looked away. He pushed my head back.

"Look, wretch," he breathed. I could feel his heat on my neck, and I whimpered. I was about eleven; he was almost nineteen. I was helpless, quite frankly. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, an answer the _first_ time."

"Let me go," I whispered sharply, my courage getting the better of me. _That_ unwise remark earned me nothing but a slap in the face. Literally.

"Haven't you ever been taught never to talk back to a man?" He asked, sounding almost piteous. "They must have terrible teachers and governess' at Wales," he went on, rubbing his hand down my neck. I attempted to back away, but of course I knew that _that_ was useless. I then saw what he was trying to do, and screamed. His large, strong hand covered my mouth. What was I supposed to do? I began to cry. He leered at me, in that handsome face, with those evil, evil eyes. I knew I defiantly couldn't take this looking into those eyes... so I closed my own.

~*~

"How was your walk?" my mother inquired cheerily when we returned. I was deathly pale, but she must not have noticed.

"Fine."

She drew me over. "Well?" she asked, jogging my elbow. "How was it?"

My throat seized. "Fine."

"Would you like to go to bed now? You look tired."

"Fine." Were there no other words in the English language? I repeated like a broken record, over and over and over and over again, until the adults were finished with me, and I was allowed to go upstairs. I caught a glimpse of Alexis before I went upstairs; he watched me with this odd, starved look on his face. I shuddered, and walked back up into my guestroom.

The room was white, with dark brown wood, and lace canopy and draperies. It was so impersonal, but I didn't care. I looked into the large, oval frame, and saw a girl looking at me. She was not Elizabeth of Wales. She was a person that looked scarred and beaten; thought not physically, but mentally. I stared at the girl in the picture, reminiscing that the innocent Elizabeth had vanished completely, and it had only taken one walk for her to do so.

I did not cry. I had learned the crying is completely useless; what had been done was done, so weeping over it isn't going to change it. Instead I flung open the window, over a cloudless night. The lake was as flat as glass, and it reflected the full harvest moon with radiance to spare. I sighed and closed my eyes. I did not want to marry Alexis.

Something brushed my cheek. I gasped and whirled around to find a golden eagle had flown in my room, the tip of its wing brushing my face. I didn't know whether to scream or cry, or what. So, I did nothing. The gargantuan bird regarded me solemnly before screeching as softly as it could.

"Elizabeth of Wales?" it asked. "Is that you?"

I dumbly nodded, gripping the lace curtain as if it was a security blanket.

"Would you mind giving my left wing a rub?" it asked. "I'm rather sore from flying so far, and I have so much longer to go."

I slowly walked over and grabbed the bird's left wing, and gently began to force its tense muscles to relax. The bird made almost a purring sound in its throat as I did so. About ten minutes later, the gigantic bird took its wing away.

"I hear that you have no interest in being betrothed to Alexis of Smyliee Lake," it said coolly.

I remembered the walk from earlier and shuddered, feeling sick. "Not at all."

"Good," the bird went on. It shuffled around. "Climb on."

"What?!" I asked, backing up. "I'll break your back!"

"No, you won't," the bird said, ruffling its golden feathers impatiently. When I hesitated, it seemed to give a bird-like sigh. "Would you rather marry Alexis?"

I looked down the window. It was about a two hundred-foot drop. If the bird dropped me, I would most likely die, and then I wouldn't have to marry Alexis either way, I figured. So I straddled the bird (which would have been big enough for three of me) and it waddled to the window. He jumped out.

We plummeted about fifty feet, as eagles always seem to do when they take off. I grabbed handfuls of his feathers, and held on for dear life. Then we suddenly found lift, and we glided easily in the air. The giant bird flapped its wings once, and we were sailing.

I risked a look behind at Smyliee Manor, and it was disappearing quickly. The window that had belonged to my room was still open, and one of the lace curtains was flapping out, as if waving good-bye. I giggled, and wanted to urge the great bird faster. The happiness of getting away from Alexis and the shock of flight had made me giddy.

About ten minutes later, we landed in front of a small, thatch-roofed house. I climbed off the bird dizzily. My feet were asleep from dangling in the air. I stumbled to the door.

"Shall I knock?" I asked. The bird nodded gravely, and I raised my hand to knock. But before my flesh met the door, it opened.

A short, squat little old woman was there. Even at my young age of eleven, I was still almost a head taller than she was. She looked me over, and invited me in. 

The cottage was very small, but very clean. A bed lay in a corner of the circular cottage, with a potbellied stove on the opposite side. There was no fireplace, but the cottage was pleasantly warm with the heat from the fire, which felt good after the ride through the brisk fall air. The old woman silently guided me to the stove, and motioned for me to sit down. On the stove was a merrily bubbling kettle. The woman got out the materials to make tea.

"Let me help you," I croaked, trying in vain to stand up. The hag flapped a hand - stay where you are - so I obeyed. She took a stick from the folds of her cloak - I learned later that this was a wand - and flicked it.

I watched in awe as two cups, a caddy of tealeaves, a teaball, and a teapot floated over to the stove. The woman set up for tea deftly, with the practice of many years in her gnarled hands. She soon finished and handed me a cup, not rattling it on the saucer at all. I took a sip. It was raspberry, my favorite kind of tea. I didn't know how the old crone knew this, and I personally didn't want to. The woman sat, cross-legged in front of me, and sipped her own tea, which was a mint flavor.

"I see Goldenwing brought you here," the woman rasped. I put my cup down.

"If that's the name of that great eagle, then yes," I replied shakily. 

"Give me your left palm," the crone instructed, setting down her own serving of tea. I looked at my hand.

"Why? There's nothing wrong with it, is there?" I asked, shocked. The woman shook her head and grabbed my palm herself. She was quick for such a small, old woman. She started tracing the lines and grooves in my skin, while muttering to herself. I was surprised to see that when she looked back up at me, her blue eyes were brimming over with tears.

"What's wrong?" I asked, afraid that I had done something to offend my hostess. "What did I-" the crone flapped her hand again, and I fell silent.

"It's just that my little granddaughter... my God, she looked exactly, and had the same palm markings as you have," she whispered, her scratchy voice thick.

I wanted to ask what the granddaughter's name was, but I went on to more tactful questions instead. "She _looked_? What happened to her?"

The hag's voice was suddenly dry and emotionless again. "Raiders invaded the village that she lived on... killed the men and children, raped the women, and sowed the fields with salt. You look exactly like her."

The woman flicked her wand again, and the teaset began cleaning itself. I stared dumbly at it. I didn't realize until I turned around that the woman was looking at me. "Would you like to learn how to do that?" she inquired quietly.

"Make the plates float?" I asked, eagerly. "Yes, yes I would! Can you teach me?"

The hag smiled. "You act like my granddaughter did, too. Dearest, you are a witch."

My mind stopped running for a moment. A witch? The kind that they burn, and drive stakes through their hearts? The kind that place evil curses on people, and stop crops from growing? I was one of _those_? I looked at the runs in my palms. They looked just like ordinary hands. It was then I realized what my 'special abilities' had been all along. I remembered the incident with the suitor I didn't like, the Memory Charm with the servant, and how Marion disappeared after she hit me. It all made sense if I was _magical_. My throat closed over.

"Oh," I said quietly. It was the only sound I could make. I looked up at the crone. "Elizabeth of Wales is a witch," I said flatly.

The old woman shook her head. "Elizabeth of Wales was not a witch. Elizabeth was a malcontented noble girl. If you accept your magical abilities, Elizabeth is no more."

I thought that over, tasting it almost, on the tip of my tongue. I looked at the crone. "Who am I?" I whispered, no matter how stupid the question sounded.

The hag shrugged. "Names are more than you think. What you're called is what you are. You may rename yourself."

A new name! I had never really cared for the name Elizabeth all that much; it was too common. But I could have a new identity, a new beginning! It seemed too good to be true. What should I call myself, was my next worry. There were so many _names_ in the world to choose from. I had no idea where to start. I looked up at the old woman.

"What was your granddaughter's name?" I asked.

She smiled. "Raven Rowena Heartclaw," she said.

I frowned. That was a little too complicated for me. I shoved the names around in my mind for a moment, before looking up. "Then I shall be Rowena Ravenclaw, after your granddaughter, since you say I am so much like her."

The hag smiled again. She took out her wand and touched it to both my shoulders, as if knighting me. The wand left a translucent blue ribbon trailing behind it. "Welcome to my humble abode, Rowena," she said. I made a polite curtsey.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I said. The hag pushed her hood back, revealing a pair of blue eyes, and a chin at a jaunty angle.

"Call me Grandma June, if you please."

~*~

A/N: *grins* Did anyone guess who she was before you read it? Everybody else will be introduced later... but the next part of this fic will be posted by _Sierra_, not me. This is something of an alternating fic, as we will be taking turns with the parts. I _love_ reviews, by the way. ^_~

~Moxie ^_~

Disclaimer: Everyone except Rowena Ravenclaw belongs to me. The great Rowena Ravenclaw belongs to the great J.K. Rowling. So _there_. You can't sue me. *sticks out her tongue at all the lawyers out there* 


	2. Loss and Gain

You seek fame and fortune in the sands of adventure, and abandon familiar places,

You seek fame and fortune in the sands of adventure, and abandon familiar places,

To set foot in cold water, alien lands, and a sea of new faces.

~*~

From then on, I was Rowena Ravenclaw, granddaughter to the old healing woman simply known as 'June', whose mother had died when she birthed me. Elizabeth of Wales sunk into nothing; she was no longer a part of me. She was more or less an empty skin, a dummy for me to place in the farthest corner of my mind, only for me to see when I was in a moment of idleness, and needed to reflect.

I have no idea to this very day if my parents missed me at all. For all I know, they didn't. I never gave them any reason to. I didn't love them, and I don't know if they loved me. They had another child to take care of; they didn't need an outspoken, overbearing, book-bound girl in their lives. I was clutter. I was clutter in their clean castle of nobility.

During the first few weeks of living in Grandma June's hut, that fateful last night with my family and Alexis kept replaying in my mind. I thought about his touch when I helped brew teas to give to ill households, I remembered his evil gaze when I tried to sleep. I had always been a quiet girl, but with this on my mind, it made me ever the more mute. It was like some sort of unknown beast, ripping and clawing at my insides, trying to take my soul over. 

About three months later, over dinner, I finally blurted out the story about my family, and Alexis. Grandma June had been trying to get the story out of me for weeks, and I think I shocked her so, because she dropped her teacup on the packed stone floor where it shattered into thousands of pink gilt pieces.

After a good cry, and a drink of mint tea laden with honey and cream, Grandma June and I talked seriously about what happened. It was very hard to talk about, and part of me just wanted to clam up. No use beating a dead horse. In the end, however, I felt much better having confided into something, and the beast had retreated back, only to reappear in times of great despair or reflections, just like Elizabeth Wales.

I remember the day that Grandma June showed me her real profession. She was not only a healer, but she was a potion brewer. She had many magical contacts, and although the news shocked me greatly, I enjoyed learning how to make the most out of my own magical talents. The learning of this also improved my physical abilities, for the first time I picked up a wand, it felt like I had been a bottle with contents under pressure, and the cork had finally popped out, releasing the pressure. It was wonderful.

There was a downside to all of this, however. In a short while, I had learnt all the old woman had to teach me. She was only a simple potion brewer; she rarely used a wand. The only spellbooks in the house were those with the ingredients to certain potions. She had no other knowledge of the magical world. I wanted desperately to go to university, but there were a number of problems. One being that I was a woman, and in those times, women going to school beyond primary was unheardof. Another being that there were no magical schools in existence, (yet!). So, I resigned myself with helping Grandma June with her brewing, and decided that I would probably spend the rest of my life making tea for ill people. That particular course of fate, though far from the life I had envisioned, was not half bad. I had no qualms. This serene life was good for me, and I would live like this the rest of my life. Or so I thought.

"Rowena, dear," Grandma June called out to me. I had been outside, tending our small garden of herbs. Grandma June loved to garden, but she was nearing the ripe old age of eighty-nine, and was far too old for that sort of thing. I looked up.

"Yes?" I can still remember that day, clear as crystal. Grandma June was dressed in her favorite crinoline and I in a plain cotton shift, as wandering around in the dirt was a messy job. The sky was bright and sunny, and a mockingbird trilled a mating call into the air. I smeared back a lock of my hair with my hand, streaking dirt across my cheek.

"I need some snakeroot," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. She relaxed against the doorframe, and sighed. "We don't grow it," she said, when I looked confusedly at the garden before me.

"Where can I get some?" I inquired, getting out of the dirt, and shaking out my hair. She sighed, and wrinkled her nose, as if trying to remember.

"There was some at the end of the forest, if I can remember correctly," she said distantly. She caught my look. I was terrified of that forest. There were too many opportunities for people to sneak up behind and grab me. She sighed again. "Take Swift," she ordered.

Swift was a pure white roan, and was faster than the wind itself, or it was said. It was pure common sense that the healer of the town gets the fastest horse, in case of a medical emergency. I puffed out my cheeks in a sigh. Swift could probably outrun any trouble.

"All right, Grandma June," I said, ashamed that it came out as a whisper. She smiled and nodded.

"That's my good girl. They'll be tea waiting for you when you return." She turned and walked back in the house. I grabbed my basket and made for the stable.

Our stable was only one stall large; we only had one horse, why waste wood and labor for nothing? I patted Swift on the nose, before grabbing the leather bridle and pressing the bit into his mouth. I liked to ride bareback, so I left the saddle where it was, and maneuvered Swift out of the stall.

My hands shook as I guided the gelding to a rock, and climbed on Swift's back. "Giddup!" I called, and kicked Swift into full canter towards the forest.

~*~

Ghastly Woods was, as the title denotes, a ghastly place. The foliage in some places was so thick that I couldn't see the sun in places, and the road was knobbly. I was very glad that I was riding the horse, otherwise I wouldn't have made it through. But Swift found no problem with The Ghastly, as it was called, and ran through with ease.

The woods thinned out a little near the end, and finally resulted into nothing but seedlings and shorn stumps, where wood had been borrowed from the forest. I leapt off of Swift's back whilst he was still running, and he came to a halt a few paces later. While the stallion munched on grass, I searched for snakeroot.

I found a patch of it by the beginning of the forest, and was pulling it out of the ground, when a flash of color found my eye. I looked at the color, and plucked it out of the grass.

It was a money pouch. I quickly looked in it; it was empty. But it was made out of a beautiful shade of purple, and it seemed to be very fine silk. I looked all over for a name, but there was none.

Where had such an object come from? It certainly didn't come from one of the villagers. The most valuable thing that anyone owned was a Persian rug, and that belonged to some elderly lady that kept it in a cedar trunk. I took a sniff of the material, and was startled by a strong aroma of incense, poppy oil, and smoke. There was some powder in the bag; I dumped it into my hand.

It was powdered incense. I looked at it for a moment before I remembered something. There had been rumors of gypsies around town lately. That was why many of the town mothers forbade their children to play outside, for fear that a gypsy captures them. This wasn't a money pouch; it had been an incense carrier. It looked as if it had been hastily dropped, as if somebody had been in a hurry.

For a moment I just stared at the object, absorbing what it meant. It meant that there had been gypsies around here lately. I had secretly always wanted to meet one, they seemed so interesting. It also possibly meant that somebody had been here recently. What if a gypsy heard me coming, and ran off? It was a possibility, the way that gypsies were treated around these parts. I fingered the pouch.

I had a money pouch of my own. It didn't have much; it was a mere hard leather mini-sack, crudely sewn since I had little or no sewing skills. It was also empty, as I had no money. I had no need for it.

I placed the leather sack down where the silk one had been, grabbed my basket of snakeroot, mounted Swift, and left.

~*~

The next day I was very jumpy and restless. As I brewed the tea that needed the snakeroot, I thought about the gypsy. Was it a girl, like myself? Was it a boy? Was he or she young or old? Was the person even a gypsy? I myself preferred the theory of the person being a girl, about my age, and, of course, a gypsy.

"Grandma June," I asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, "we wouldn't happen to need any herbs, would we?"

She looked at me oddly, still stirring the cauldron with its simmering potion with one hand. "No, child. What is the matter with you, may I ask? You've been fidgeting and restless the entire day."

"I've just got a bad case of spring fever," I lied. I felt bad about it, but I couldn't tell Grandma June about the 'gypsy'. It would just worry her.

"Go along outside for a walk then," she instructed, tapping in some powder to her brew. "You're only young once, you know. I'm surprised you spend as much time with me as you do."

I was about to walk out the door, when I remembered the walk through Ghastly Woods, and froze. "Grandma June?" I ventured in my most fawning voice.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, not turning from her cauldron.

"M-may I borrow Swift?" I faltered. She turned and looked at me. I swallowed. "It's such a nice day for a ride. I don't think that Swift would like to be cooped up in his stall all day."

Grandma June looked at me for a moment, and then nodded. "All right then. But don't be gone too long," she commanded. "I might need him."

I skipped out of the room, climbed on Swift, and cantered through the forest.

__

~*~

I wandered into the clearing, fighting to keep my excitement down. There might not be anything there, I repeated to myself. The person might have already left. The pouch might have been there for a long time. I couldn't help but be excited, however. I felt the present I had brought in my pocket. It was a leather thong, smooth as silk, and on it was this pretty seashell that Grandma June got from who knows where. I had made it into a necklace a while ago.

As I approached the bush, I looked over. There was nothing there. I searched under the bush, around the bush, but still nothing. I nearly cried with disappointment. I was about to leave, when I noticed a depression in the mud. On closer inspection, it was a footprint.

The print had been embedded deeply; showing me that it had not been accidental. The foot was tiny and perfect, not much bigger than the length of my hand. After I was through examining it, I raised up, my head striking some branches. There was a cracking sound of twigs breaking, and then something thudded on top of my hand and landed in the footprint.

It was a bracelet, beaded with blue, green, and gold beads in a pattern. I picked it up. The beads had been made out of clay, painted, and burned in a firepit, so they would set. It fit my wrist perfectly. Rather than put it on, I placed it in the pouch I had gotten yesterday, and knotted the string on the pouch securely.

I took off my own shoe and stocking, and squelched my foot deep in the mud beside the other one. As my toes squished with the mud between them, I noticed that my foot was nearly two sizes bigger than the other foot, and I blushed. Having gargantuan feet had never been a trait that I had particularly liked.

I took my foot out and put the seashell necklace in the fresh imprint. Then I put on my shoes, mounted Swift, and returned to the cottage.

~*~

And so it went. This mysterious person and I traded things back and forth, back and forth. They were never valuable things, just various trinkets. Grandma June never minded if I tool Swift out, so long as I wasn't gone for long, and I didn't get in trouble. I think that she suspected that I was going out with a man from another village and I needed the horse to get there. I didn't care what she thought, as long as she didn't find out the truth. I felt bad lying to Grandma June, but I figured that there was no way around it.

Once I left a handkerchief; I found a small headwrap in its wake. I left a blue bead; the person left a red bead. I left a white candle; the person put down a stick of incense behind. I even left a small sachet of blackberry tea once, and I found a small bag of citrus tea. That tea was wonderful. I was now quite positive that this person was a gypsy, and I was enjoying this game of give and take we were having.

One day, I rode up to find three things: a handprint, a slip of paper, and something black. The hand was small and dainty, and there was an imprint around the ring finger; obviously from some kind of ring. I picked up the small black thing. It was tied with red ribbon. On closer inspection, the black turned out to be hair. It smelled of lavender soap and vanilla incense. I twirled the hair in my fingers, thinking about what it meant.

It meant that the subject was probably a girl, since men rarely went about with their hair that long, unless of course they were of noble status. I had never seen hair that black before, so I assumed that it had been from someone foreign ethnicity. I put the hair into my pocket, along with all of the other small treasures I had obtained over the last couple of weeks. I then picked up the slip of paper.

When I looked at it, I knew immediately that it was not just a slip of paper. It was a card. A tarot card. I could tell because of the weird markings on its back, and the magic that shimmered around it. I turned it over and looked at the other side.

It had a picture of two girls, holding hands and smiling. Behind them was a camp of some sort, and it was a cheery, bright day. Below the picture were inked the words in graceful, alien handwriting:

__

Be thou ever my friend

I stared at the ink, which had been smeared as if the scripter had been writing it in a hurry, and left the card in the print before it had dried. I put that in my pocket too.

Sitting down on a clump of grass, I remembered that I had my personal hygiene kit with me. It contained a nail file, an earwax scoop, and nail scissors. I took up the scissors and undid my pigtails.

Reaching around my head, I cut a small snippet of hair from under my neck, tying it with the blue ribbon that had held my hair in place. I placed that by my side, and pulled out the trinket that I was going to leave for the day.

It was a small wooden spoon that Grandma June hardly ever used for measuring things. I figured that she wouldn't miss it. I grabbed the nail file, and began to etch words into the wood. When I was finished, I rubbed dirt into the grooves so the writing would be easier to read.

__

Thee friend thy shall be

I had no idea whether I had used my 'thee's' and 'thou's' right, but I didn't care. I left my handprint in the softest part of the mud, placed my things there, and left.

~*~

It was a cool day in March. I was tending my garden. The world had been peaceful and perfect for a long time. I was at rights with nature, and the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. I bathed it its warmth, and sighed happily.

Then there came the noise. That dreadful noise. It sounded like thunder, and I looked up. The clouds in the sky were fluffy and white, and I couldn't see what was the matter. After awhile, I decided that I had been hearing things, at returned to uprooting weeds.

The rumble came closer and closer, until I could nearly feel vibrations in the ground. The sun shone down, lighting the place with innocence and blind merriment. I looked up at it, and felt uneasy. There was something not right here. Losing my nerve, I ran back into our hut.

"My child! What ever is the matter with you?" Grandma June asked upon my return to the house. "You look like hoptoads attacked you!"

"Grandma," I said hurriedly, "something's not right outside!" I must have looked so scared and confused that she nodded without saying a word and followed me outside.

The noise was louder than ever. The sun shone radiantly, and the thunder-in-the-ground continued. Grandma June frowned and shaded her eyes. I did the same. After a few moments, there was a whip crack, and several rowdy cries.

The color drained out of Grandma June's face in an instant. "Oh, oh dear God," she whispered. She then hustled me back into the house, without an explication.

"What's the matter?" I squeaked, trembling slightly. Grandma June started pacing, wearing a rut in the floor. She was muttering something, and seemed to be making a decision. She finally whirled on her heel. The thunder noise was getting louder and louder. You could hear it in the house. Plates and cups started to rattle. I was beginning to wonder if this was an earthquake, when Grandma June grabbed my arm, and opened the cellar door. I didn't like the cellar either. It was dark and scary. She started to shove me down in there. Her normally soft eyes held something of a determined gleam in them, as well as fear.

"What's the matter?" I whispered, as she led me down the stairs, like some sort of ragdoll. She looked at me sadly, before mounting the stairs.

"Raiders," she whispered back. I started to follow her back up the stairs. She blocked me. "Rowena Ravenclaw, if you so much as take _one step_ after me, I swear to Christ Jesus that I will knock you into last Tuesday."

I had never heard Grandma June speak that way before. It scared me. I nodded softly, and she hugged me slightly. She then lumbered back up the stairs, shutting and locking the doors behind her, leaving me alone.

In the dark.

~*~

After that, I lost track of time. I spent my days eating the vegetables that hung from the earthy ceiling and sleeping on the fresh smelling dirt floor. Finally, I knew I could take the dark no longer.

Cupping my hands, I drew what magical strength was left in me, and tried to collect it in my palm. What the result was was a faint shimmer around my palms, like some kind of faery dust. It let a faint glow around my surroundings. My food stock was going low. I needed to get out of here, no matter what Grandma June said. Something must have gone terribly wrong, or she wouldn't have left me down here for this long.

I gathered my muddy skirts up in one hand, and trudged up the stairs, and tried to open the door. It was locked. Cursing, I banged against it. I knew that I couldn't stay down here forever, but if the door was locked...

Gathering every single cell of strength in my body, physical, mental and magical, I _slammed_ my body into that wooden door. I was aware of something giving way, but I blacked out before I could realize what it was.

When I came to God knows how long later, I was dimly noticing something wet sprinkling around my body. It felt like rain, but it didn't rain indoors... did it?

Dragging myself off the ground, I found myself looking at the sky. It was solid gray, a cold, pewter color. Two drops of rain blinked into my left eye, one after another. _Plip. Plip_. Rolling around, I saw I was lying about a large pile of blackened lumber. I stared at it for a moment, before I saw an upturned cauldron on the other side of the lumber heap.

"Oh, dear God," I whispered, lurching to my feet, and trying to keep from falling over. I ran over to the pile of wood and thatch and started to dig under it, heedless of the nails. By the time I had reached the bottom, my hands were very bloody. I pulled back a slab of wood, and saw the tail end of a crinoline dress. I gasped, and hurriedly shoved the rest of the mass out of the way.

The owner of the dress had indeed been Grandma June. I let out a wail of surprise and dismay at the same time, and sank to my knees. Why was fate so cruel? Why? I banged my fists against the mud, which had once been the floor of the tidy cottage. 

I don't remember if I cried or not. It was raining too hard to tell. But I do remember my red fists striking against the soil, and rocking back and forth, wailing loudly to the clouds, and anybeast that happened to hear me. All I could think of was spending that time in the cellar, when I could have been out helping my fellow townsfolk. But I was alone, in that earthy darkness, and didn't hear anything. I looked up at the rainy sky, and thought about the cheery day when the raiders came.

Oh, how that sunshine betrayed us.

~*~

I buried Grandma June in the garden. I couldn't think of anywhere else, and my arms wouldn't dig in the harder ground. As I slopped the last handful of mud over the messy grave, I sighed.

A single, feeble rose grew on the last of the rosebushes. I considered picking it, but decided against it. Grandma June never picked anything unless it was needed, and I didn't _need_ the rose. So I let it be, and crawled out of the mud. My dress was wearing through, and the cherry color it once was was now a faded, very light muddy-pink. Righting myself, I looked about. I had no idea where to go. I had no food, no shelter, no money, no anything. I looked over at The Ghastly. I hated the woods, but it looked like it would be dry, so I headed over there.

Swift was gone; I had no idea where the mare was, dead or alive, so I walked through the woods alone. The path was relatively dry, and the light patter of rain on leaves was a relaxing sound. I didn't really care about the various snaps and mutter-like sounds that seemed to be following me. I just kept on walking, not hearing, not feeling, not seeing. I was a walking shell.

I burst through the leafy undergrowth, into the clearing where I had found the incense pouch about a month ago. The snapping and muttering was louder. Fighting the sudden rush of panic that seemed to be creeping up my throat, I whirled around, wet skirt slapping my calves.

To my horror, two men were clomping though the underbrush. They both had on rough pants, and shirts with a myriad of holes in them. They reeked of the greasy, thick smell of alcohol, and the one on the left clutched a bottle of corn whiskey in his hands.

"Purty 'lil thang," the one without the bottle said in a husky voice. "Shadn't be in these 'ere 'oods 'll on 'er own, shad she, Stan?" That voice was slurred and ugly, just like the many scars of battle over the man's hands and face.

"Raiders," I whispered under my breath. _Drunk_ raiders, at that. I backed up, as slowly as I could.

The one with the bottle - Stan, I supposed - seemed too intoxicated to speak, so he just made some murmuring and hiccoughing noises in his throat. The other man grunted, and turned back to me, using a sugary-sweet tone to address me. I hated it.

"Whaddya, dering 'ere?" he asked me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He advanced on me, and I backed up so quickly I fell. The man yanked me up. I looked into his eyes, and saw reflections of Alexis. He was fumbling to hold both of my hands with one of his own. My throat closed over. This had happened before.

No.

Something snapped. "_Nooooo!_" I screamed. The drunken man seemed surprised to hear me scream, as if he hadn't expected it. He leaned closer to me, and the stink of liquor was almost overpowering. Closer he leaned - for a kiss? I don't know what - but I turned my head. His teeth bumped against my jawbone. I screamed as I wrenched one of my arms free.

Too terrified to run, I screamed, and screamed, and screamed until I was hoarse, and then I screamed a little more. Why wasn't the forest coming down around my ears? It sounded like it would, with all the racket I was making. I gave the man one mighty shove, and he fell over. I was lucky that he was drunk, or I would have been lost for sure.

There was a zinging sound from across the clearing, and Stan keeled over, an arrow in his leg. The other man stared, confused, until another arrow flew forth and claimed him. Even with my persecutors dead or immobile, I was still screaming, although my voice was little more than a warble. A hand touched my arm. This hand, unlike the other ones, was soft and puffy. Nevertheless, I shook it off, and tried to run away, but fell over my own giant feet. My head struck a tree root, and all went black.

~*~ 

Time passed. Hours? Days? Months? I had no idea. When one is wandering the lands of the unconscious, there is no such thing as Time.

I awoke with a throbbing headache, a rather large lump on the side of my skull and a rumbling in my stomach. How long had it been since I had last eaten? Massaging the side of my head, I dragged myself into a sitting position.

I was laying on some sort of pallet in a tent. It was dark outside of the tent, so I was prone to assume it was nighttime or early morning. There was a movement and a muffled thump on the other side of the small tent. I struggled across to the fabricated side. I was not alone in the tent.

The thing also went into a sitting position, and smacked its lips. When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw that the thing was another girl.

She was dressed in something of a rumpled frock, which was incredibly tattered, as if she had been thrown off a mountainside. She looked up at me, and her eyes widened in fear and shock. She also scooted to the far side of the tent.

I sighed, desperately wishing for a light. Swallowing, I addressed the other girl.

"You wouldn't happen to have a candle on you, would you?" I asked, breathing hard. For a moment, my only answer was short little gasps, and I was afraid that she wasn't going to answer me at all. Finally, I saw her give a little shake of her head.

"N-no, I normally don't carry those sorts of things around with me..." she said, her voice slightly wavering. I looked at her. Her tone of voice was light and steady - the tone of a noble.

There was a rustling from the tent flap. The other girl and I backed up again, trying to scrunch ourselves invisible. Something was thrust inside, and the flap closed. The girl looked over at me, and gingerly picked the 'something' up with her two fingers.

She pulled up a large napkin, and under it was a pot of tea, slices of bread and butter, and sugar and cream containers. There was also a candle and a single sulfur match. My stomach rumbled further, and it was perfectly audible. I blushed. The other girl giggled, and we both crawled over to the platter.

I picked up the match and struck it against the rough surface of the candleholder. A strong smell of sulfur, and the match caught fire. I touched it to the wick of the candle, where the flame gobbled some wax and grew stronger. I shook out the match and buried it in the ground. I was now able to get a good look at my partner.

She was a girl about my height, but a lot skinnier, and her skin was frightfully pinched looking at the edges. She had very light honey-blonde hair that fell in shaggy, slightly curly locks to her shoulders, and bright green eyes that seemed much too big for her face. She stared back just as unbashfully as I, and it was about five minutes until we both remembered our manners and had the grace to blush and look at the ground.

We made short work of the bread and butter meal, and were both sipping our third cup of sweet tea when the girl spoke again.

"D-do you think we're prisoners?" she asked in that polite, well-bred voice again. I sighed and looked down at my teacup.

"I don't _think_ so," I said, as bravely as I could. Then I faltered. "Actually, I'm not sure at all." 

The girl nodded, and we finished our tea. I set my cup back on the platter.

"My name is Rowena Ravenclaw," I said, looking over the shadows of the tent at my partner. She looked back. "May I ask what I am to call you?"

They say that about two or three times in your life you come across a significant happening to you that you don't think in important at the time, but you remember it forever. This was one of those times. The girl looked at me, slowly stirring her nearly empty teacup before putting it down. She opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it, as if she thought better of what she was about to say. She cleared her throat.

"Helga Hufflepuff."

~*~

A/N: Ooookay... I didn't really realize that I had this lurking around in the Vat O' Forgotten Fanfiction, and I decided to post it. I may write some more on it - it depends on the responce I get. For the people who read the first part, I *really* did write it! I have the old disclaimer - this part was finished seventeen days before the Goblet of Fire came out! Really! I hope you enjoyed, and I'm sorry for the loooooong delay. ^_~


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